


with a wink and a snack

by silentdescant



Series: Snapshots [2]
Category: Pentatonix, Superfruit
Genre: Alternate Universe, Fluff, M/M, Meet-Cute
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-26
Updated: 2016-09-26
Packaged: 2018-08-17 12:40:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,325
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8144407
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silentdescant/pseuds/silentdescant
Summary: A meet-cute AU where Scott writes commercial jingles and Mitch comes in to record for him.





	

**Author's Note:**

> For RagingRainbow

Scott doesn’t actually spend much time in his office. He works mostly from home, where he has his little studio set up just how he likes it, with his keyboard and his laptop his fridge full of alcohol. Usually it’s beer that helps inspiration strike.

Unfortunately, he can’t bring beer into work. He’s set up at a full size keyboard right now, fancier than he’s got at home, and there’s a pile of snack bars on a table. They’re supposed to inspire him. They looked pretty gross this morning, but now that a few hours have passed, Scott’s almost tempted.

He’s in the studio today because his angel, his muse, his regular vocal talent will be here to record the last jingle Scott wrote. Scott’s presence isn’t necessary, but… well, Mitch is cute and Scott wants to watch him sing.

They talk sometimes, because Scott makes a point to come to work and act as sound engineer whenever Mitch is due to record, and Scott knows a lot of little things about him. For instance, he knows Mitch is from Texas—something they bonded over!—and he knows Mitch likes to DJ. Scott has yet to go to one of Mitch’s shows, though, because Mitch never seems to have gigs around town. He suspects Mitch has exaggerated his success as a DJ, but Scott doesn’t mind.

He plays a few chord progressions on the piano, mindlessly fitting his fingers to keys until something sounds pretty. He’s really at a loss, and he could really use a bubbly glass of champagne. That would suit the mood of a snack bar, he thinks. He plays a few staccato notes. Light and playful.

A knock at the door distracts him and Mitch pokes his head in. “I heard you playing,” he says, “I hope I’m not interrupting?”

“No, not at all! Come in! Please!” Scott replies. He spins his chair around and crosses his legs. Then uncrosses them. “So…” He crosses his legs again—fuck, he’s such a loser.

“Working on something new?” Mitch asks.

“Writer’s block. But now you’re here, so maybe something’ll come to me.”

Mitch grins as he sinks into the couch, dropping his bag carelessly beside him. “What, am I your muse?”

“Sometimes,” Scott answers. He laughs nervously and covers his mouth with both hands to hide his blush. “I didn’t mean like that. I mean—It is inspiring to have you around. You’re just—Talented. I’ll stop now. Sorry.”

“Aw, thank you!” Mitch says. “I’ll help, if I can.”

“You don’t have to.”

“I don’t mind!” He reaches for the pile of snack bars. “Is this what you’re working on? Does it have a slogan?”

Scott grimaces. “Not unless you can think of a better one than ‘with a wink and a bar.’” 

Mitch laughs brightly. “Like, to the tune of Wink and a Smile? First of all, that sounds so sexual and creepy, and secondly, have they not heard of copyright law? I mean, at least it’s not ‘with a wink and snack,’ I think that would be worse. Can I try one? Is it gluten free?”

“You’re welcome to, but, uh, I doubt it. And I unwrapped one this morning and it looked really gross, so you might wanna… not.”

Mitch tosses the snack bar back into the pile and instead fishes a water bottle out of his purse. He tilts it up, tosses his head back, exposing his throat… Scott drifts into a fantasy of kissing Mitch’s throat. He can see Mitch’s Adam’s apple bobbing as he drinks. His lips around the mouth of the bottle—

Scott clears his throat loudly. “Why don’t we do what you came here to do and get it out of the way. Do you have the music?”

“Yep, looked at it last night. Easy enough.” Mitch moves to the door of the little recording booth. He pauses with his hand on the doorknob. “You want me in here?”

Boy, does he ever. Scott settles for nodding and wheels his chair over to the sound board while Mitch shuts himself in the tiny soundproof room and makes himself comfortable at the microphone. Scott can’t hear him yet, but he recognizes Mitch’s routine of a quick vocal warm-up. Scott gets everything powered up in time to catch the tail end of it.

Finally, Mitch pulls off his beanie to don the headphones, and he asks, “Can you hear me?”

Instead of answering, Scott blurts out, “You shaved your head.”

Mitch touches his forehead, his _fucking bald_ forehead. His smile looks a little strained, a little nervous, and Scott desperately wants to hug him, and maybe rub his scalp too.

“It looks good,” he says quickly, and he isn’t even lying. It’s a drastic change, sure, but Mitch, with his tattoos and his adorably punk rock style, somehow pulls it off.

“Really?”

“Really really.”

Mitch flashes him a genuine smile full of bright white teeth and the most kissable pink lips Scott has ever seen. He needs to pull himself together. He clears his throat again, and one more time, and says, “So, you ready to sell some fucking window cleaner?”

Mitch nails the window cleaner jingle in three takes, and one of them was just him warming up and getting a feel for the melody. Scott has him record one more for good measure before inviting him to step out of the booth.

Instead of leaving—his job is done, why is he sticking around?—Mitch folds himself into the corner of the sofa again. He picks up one of the snack bars.

“This really does look terrible. I hope it’s not all they’re paying you.”

“No, thankfully they agreed to pay me actual money.”

“You’ll let me know if you need me, right?” Mitch asks.

“Of course, babe, you’re my number one.”

“I could sell the shit out of these snack bars.”

“I know you could.”

“Did you ever think,” Mitch asks suddenly, “that this would be how you make your living?”

“No, this is exactly what I expected when I studied pop music in college and graduated top of my class,” Scott replies, rolling his eyes. “I always wanted to write shitty commercial jingles. Who needs sold out tours and Grammy awards? But hey, it’s a living.” _And I get to see you_ , he doesn’t add.

“Yeah.” Mitch sounds a little wistful. “Yeah, it’s a living.”

They lapse into silence. Scott fiddles with the ragged rip in the knee of his jeans, picking at a thread until it comes loose. Is this a moment? Is it completely inappropriate to ask Mitch out when they’re at work? They only ever see each other for work, though, so what other opportunities does Scott have?

They both speak at the same time. Scott asks, “Do you have any gigs coming up?”

Mitch asks, “Are you hungry?”

“Yes,” they both reply.

Scott breaks into giggles and Mitch does too, except Mitch won’t meet his eyes. Scott watches him turn the snack bar over and over in his hands. After a moment or two, he puts it down in his lap and rest his hands flat on his knees.

“I’m filling in for a friend at a club on Saturday,” Mitch says. “I don’t know if it’s really your scene. I have to play some of his stuff, so it’s not like… _my_ set, I’m just filling in because he’s sick, but… I mean, you could—Do you want to come?”

“Do you want to grab a late lunch? I’m starving and I really don’t want to eat one of those. Also, yes. Absolutely. I’d love to see you at a club. Playing at a club. I mean, I’d love to see you at a club in general too. Maybe—”

Mitch chucks the snack bar at Scott and misses by a mile, but he gets his point across. “Yes, let’s get food. Then we can talk about Saturday.”

 

 _fin_.


End file.
